


Maybe

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-02
Updated: 2006-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:56:56
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Just a little reflection of my take on the Sam/Dean relationshp, along with an ever irresistible cute moment thrown in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

There were a lot of maybes in the lives of the Winchester brothers.

There were the angry, emotional maybes.

Maybe Sam regretted leaving law school, leaving Jess, to search for a father who didn’t want to be found.

Maybe a tiny part of Sam felt damn good for shooting that rock-salt blast into Dean and his unwavering trust in a man who didn’t even bother to find out if his son had survived a heart attack.

Maybe Sam felt everything Dean should have been feeling towards John Winchester.

Maybe Dean actually felt everything Sam thought he should feel towards their so-called father, but cared more about having Sam there than finding the man. Maybe he thought arguing or showing any emotion that mattered would only drive Sam away again. Maybe Dean just thought the show of emotion was plain unnecessary; maybe he had been burying emotion for so long that he simply didn’t feel it anymore.

Or maybe he really was just damn good at hiding it all. Maybe Dean thought that the rock-salt episode was just a preview of what would happen, of him losing Sam once again to his rebelliousness. Maybe Dean was scared beyond belief of being alone again, of once again living only for the hunt and not for the man who he loved more than he cared to believe or admit. Maybe this is what spurred on Dean’s sense of recklessness, the death wish that angered Sam so.

These were the maybes that resulted in the screaming matches that left both hoarse and no less angry. These were the maybes that began the physical fights that left them both breathing heavy on the floors of the crappy motel rooms they stayed in, with angry bruises to accompany the rage they began to hide once again before even rising from the filthy carpets.

There were the hopeful, desiring maybes.

Maybe Sam hadn’t hallucinated; maybe Dean really did steal those glances at him whenever he stepped out of a lukewarm shower in whatever hotel they were staying in at the moment. Maybe Dean’s eyes really shouldn’t have been so goddamn mesmerizing, so goddamn green and honest; more honest than his mouth could ever be. Maybe it was those beautiful eyes that always made Sam forgive Dean’s equally beautiful mouth for the sharp things it said.

Or maybe Sam was too busy focusing on the sexy grin that accompanied the sharp comments to actually be hurt by them anymore. Maybe the surge of jealousy that Sam felt whenever Dean flirted with various women was a tad over the line of appropriate brotherly feeling; maybe the desire to be in the woman’s place, kissing Dean in the alley behind the bar, was so strong that it didn’t occur to Sam that it could ever be inappropriate.

Maybe Dean couldn’t resist watching his brother sleep, the image surpassing that of any woman Dean had fucked in his travels. Maybe he loved being the one to be there when Sam woke up, the one that could make Sam smile first thing in the morning. And maybe Dean did tend to forgive Sam for his part in whatever fight they had just had the moment he stepped out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his waist. Maybe Dean could not tear his gaze away from his brother when he stood like that, graceful and lean and still, as though waiting for something.

These were the maybes that led to Sam finally being pressed against a thin motel room wall with Dean’s hungry mouth over his, the seeming wrongness of the act only a flitting thought as they gave in to the maybes that overruled anything else. There were the maybes that led to their first night together as more than brothers, and their second night, and then more nights than they could count. 

Maybe nothing had ever seemed more important to Dean than Sam’s body pressed into his, his hands and mouth learning things about Dean that Dean had hoped but never dreamed Sam would want to learn about him.

Maybe this is what made Sam realize that Dean was what had been missing from his life at college, that this new level of his relationship with Dean was what he had been searching for. Maybe this felt like all Sam ever needed and ever wanted.

And maybe, things just felt so fucking good and right when they were together that they managed to stop thinking so hard about everything else. This was one of the most important maybes; the one that indicated they were safe enough around each other to just _be_. Maybe Dean was tired of being a warrior, a champion, just to be with their father, and Sam understood that; just as Dean understood that maybe Sam was tired of being what Dean wasn’t. So maybe they learned to complement each other.

Maybe the scratches and bruises that graced Sam’s lithe body each morning were the feelings that Dean’s quick-witted mouth couldn’t express. Sam could understand that; the whole violent, possessive, die-for-your-family thing was what Dean had been raised on, what he had thrived under.

Maybe Sam was thinking about it too much.

Maybe Dean just thought the scratches and bruises looked hot on Sam, someone he had always thought was too beautiful for there to be room for any improvement. Of course, that was before he had learned how much Sam liked him to use his mouth, before he was blessed with the image of Sam on a bed before him, eyes dark with lust and body arched, wanting him, _needing_ him. Dean liked the scratches and bruises; maybe the thought process behind it really was that simple.

Maybe not.

These were the maybes that led to Dean’s eyes being glued to one particularly sexy bruise on Sam’s neck while driving the Impala one Saturday morning, resulting in Sam shouting, “Jesus, Dean!” while guiding the swerving car to a stop in the right-most lane of the highway and turning the ignition off. Dean’s gaze remained still, however, until Sam finally called his name, to which he responded, “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What the hell am I doing? I know you’d never admit to caring if I die in the crash, so let me put it to you this way; you almost ran your precious car off-”

He stopped as Dean’s eyes glazed over once again. Waving a hand in front of his brother’s face, he said, “Dean, where do you keep fading-”

Somehow in the millisecond it took Sam to get out that incomplete question, Dean’s mouth had landed on the bruise he had been staring at, kissing it gently, making Sam’s breath catch. Dean pulled the neck of Sam’s shirt aside and turned him slightly to do the same to the light scratches that marked Sam’s left shoulder. 

“Do I hurt you?”

“No more than I want you to hurt me, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes burned into Sam’s with the expression of everything Sam wanted to hear from him as his hand came up to gently stroke Sam’s cheek. This was new for them; Dean wasn’t one for meaningful glances. Then again, everything was different for Dean when it came to Sam. It always had been. Suddenly, it became crucial that Sam know this, to know that he was a category all his own in Dean’s world.

Their lips met in a gentle kiss, with Dean’s hand still on Sam’s face, and Sam couldn’t imagine why he had ever thought he needed words from Dean. This kiss described it all, as well as the eyes that Sam should have known would show everything. As good a liar as Dean was, his eyes never could lie to Sam.

They pulled apart after a minute, foreheads resting against each other, surprised that such a light kiss could make them breathless.

“That was new,” Sam finally managed.

“You’re mine, Sammy.”

“I know.”

Dean’s expression suddenly became hard once more and he glanced away from the intense gaze they had shared. Reaching out, Sam gently turned Dean’s face toward his.

“It’s okay to _feel_ , Dean.”

Dean looked unconvinced, his gaze deeply shaken. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said in a hoarse voice, “I think I’ll stick to biting you.”

And just like that, the moment was over. 

Sam’s returning smile had a wicked twist to it. “Have I ever complained about the biting?”

Dean laughed, started the car, and then they were back on the highway with Dean’s music playing, per usual, but Sam could feel that something was different, in a way that made him grin right along with Dean.

So maybe the Winchesters were far from perfect. Hell, they probably had only just begun to scratch the surface of their issues.

Maybe they didn’t know where they would be five days from now, or even how alive they would be five days from now. Maybe they didn’t know what they the hell they were doing, being brothers and sleeping together at the same time. Maybe they didn’t know what would happen to this new relationship that was allowing them to truly live if they actually did find their father.

But maybe, _just_ maybe, Sam thought for the first time since he had left Stanford behind, as the heat of Dean’s hand on his thigh seeped through his jeans, not knowing everything wasn’t so bad.


End file.
